The Aftermath

Enemies?

An orange glow of fire covered the study room in a moody cloud. It was dark besides the fireplace and a single candle atop the desk in front of the window. Books and paperwork lay haphazardly over the wooden finery, along with a drooling Fjara who slept slouched in her seat. The window was slightly ajar, letting in the cool night breeze of Amaranthine. A fine view of the courtyard could be enjoyed from here, although Fjara definitely didn't need anymore distraction. With a number of silly doodles all over the damp paper in front of the Warden, it was rather obvious where her attention laid.

Strewn across the floor were a number of crumpled and torn letters from Alistair, the King of Ferelden... And Fjara's former lover.

A quiet but persistent knock on the study's door began to pull the noblewoman out of her sleep. Slowly, she raised her head and wiped the spit from her chin. With a grunt, she craned her neck back, glowering at the door. "Yes?"

The door opened a crack and Fjara could see the woman on the other side. She looked nervous and sleepy, probably one of the nightwatchers. "Apologies, ma'am. But the headsmen asks that you come and attend to a burglar who attempted to steal many old artifacts before the attack on Vigil's Keep."

Groaning, Fjara stood up and shoved her chair out of the way as she stretched. "Yup. I'll get to it. Thanks." The noble spoke casually, not a care for the idea of rank and file. Truthfully, Fjara just wanted to be left alone for more than an hour or two. Since coming to this hellhole of an Arling, she'd been bombarded with not only darkspawn... But politics. Even the word passing her mind was too disgusting for the Warden Commander to bare.

Nodding, the armored woman quickly rushed off to go and attend to her other duties.

Fjara sighed in relief, glad to be alone once more. Although a single glance at her desk soured even that tiny little victory. Sneering, she grasped the letter from Alistair off her desk and tore it in half. If he wanted to talk to her, he'd ought to stop sending letters and come to see her himself like a man. Warrior to warrior. Warden to Warden. Not once had she actually sent a response back - And while that was likely some kind of offense in court, Fjara couldn't be bothered.

He may have left the order, but he was still a Warden. It didn't matter what he said in the Landsmeet, the taint in his body would always eat at him. Remind him of her and Duncan. Of what they once had together.

Putting on her usual poker face, Fjara strode out the door without bothering to close it behind her.

~(0)~

"Here he is, Lady Cousland. We found this fella in the old Arl's trophy room, stealing personal family heirlooms. Took four Wardens to detain him." The headsman spat to the side and gave the dark haired man a glare. "Good men died while this'n sat in his cell, safe and snug."

As he spoke, Fjara knelt next to the chest where they kept the prisoners' effects. It was full of old armor and weapons. The Crest of Howe was emblazoned on each piece. After a few moments, she stood and turned to get a look at the man in question. For a split second, Fjara's steely eyes widened.

Nathaniel Howe. Rendon's eldest son, and a childhood friend of Fjara's.

Of course, Fjara quickly regained herself before nodding to the headsman. "Thank you, I would like to speak with him alone. Could you also go fetch Mel for me? I require her... Assistance."

The man nodded and turned, heading for the door without another word.

Fjara watched him as he left and waited until the door was shut behind him to breath again. A moment or two passed and neither noble seemed to desire to break the silence. But of course, Fjara would not shy away from her duty.

"Those heirlooms..." She turned to face the last remnant of her family's enemy. "They are yours. You are not a thief."

Nathaniel stared up at Fjara through the bars of his cell, eyes unreadable. After a few seconds, he slowly stood up and stepped forward to face the Cousland. "You murdered father. Do not try and make u-"

"Make up? Don't flatter yourself." Upperlip curled back in a vicious snarl, Fjara gripped the bars of his cell and stared him directly in the eyes. "I don't care what you think. You weren't here to see what happened. So don't you dare judge my decisions, squire." Her words dripped with venom and a dark aura began to fill the room, practically pouring from her eyes.

Nathaniel paused, eyes narrow yet still unreadable. He glowered down at the young woman before him, his hate clashing with her own.

"I came here... I thought I was going to try and kill you..." His eyes turned from a coal black to a stormy grey. "To set a trap for you. But once I got here I realized I really just wanted to reclaim some of my family's belongings."

Breathing in, Fjara glanced over her shoulder at the chest and swallowed. "They are yours." She sighed and stepped back from the cell, returning her eyes to his. "I will allow you to go through the Keep and take what belongs to the Howes. Then you will leave." Fjara couldn't care less at his admission of planning to murder her. Better men had tried... And they were either dead or conscripted.

Nathaniel blinked, his face never letting anything go. Nothing to show what he was thinking. Quite honestly, it was pissing Fjara off. He'd always been like that. Impossible to understand. It drove her mad.

The door swung open and a blood caked elf marched in. Mel. "Better have a damn good reason for interrupting my training."

Fjara couldn't help but smirk, her mind finally soothing slightly at the sight of her fellow Warden. Mel may have been a rude, racist arse, but she was honest about it. You knew where you stood with the elf and that mattered more to Fjara than most anything these days.

"Yes. You're going to watch over Nathaniel here while he retrieves his family heirlooms. Make sure no one gets any ideas and he doesn't take any Warden property. You can tell by the crest." Fjara held out the chest piece of Rendon's old armor for Mel to observe.

The blond waved the leather curiass aside, huffing. "Don't patronize me. You gonna let him out of that cell or what?"

Smirk cracking in to a full on grin, she was glad that Mel had gotten out of the habit of constantly calling her "shem." Fjara tossed her the keys to Nathaniel's cell. "I dunno, are you?" Fjara held back a giggle as she walked past Mel, enjoying the exasperated groan that ensued. It was rather fun being in charge.

Sometimes.